


Vodka, snakes... But mostly Vodka.

by lia_bezdomny



Category: Cherik - Fandom, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Cherik - Freeform, M/M, cain is a good brother, fun with science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: “I have an appointment.” “To do someone's taxes?” This was getting ridiculous.“Do I look like an accountant?” “You are wearing tweed and by the looks of you, not ironically. So yeah, you kinda do.”---Charles has an appointment with the protege of a famous Herpetologist. After some confusion, he finally meets Erik. And has a hard time to focus on his goal to change the world.





	Vodka, snakes... But mostly Vodka.

**Author's Note:**

> I think my German is showing in this one. 
> 
> Charles wants to better the world. Erik relishes in annoying him. Business as usual. There might be some social commentary on the way but mostly fluff and Cherik feels.  
> And as always, this piece is sponsored by Vodka.

“The positive effects of neurotoxins on psychological diseases with the help of… God, I'm bored.”

Cain gives the folder back to Charles and takes up his crossword puzzle again.

 

“What I'm trying to say is that certain poisons can ease the symptoms of mental disorders, that are proven to be linked to the...” He is stopped by Cain with a sideways glare.

  
“You want to cure depression with snake poison. Don't treat me like an imbecile, just because you a the proverbial wunderkind of our family.” “Sorry.”

He knows, that Cain is fine with the apology. But Charles always needed to get his point across, even as a child. So he continues:

 

“I never thought you were stupid, okay? And our parents, they were hard on all three of us. Excel in everything.” “Fucks sake, Charles. I know our backstory, I was there and it is fine. We worked through our pubescent anger. You were a pain in my arse, I was a bastard to you and Raven is… Whatever the hell happened there. Point is, we survived, became a unit and now let it go or I leave.”

 

They look over to the building, a Brutalist nightmare and watch a bunch of tourists take pictures regardless. The university was doubling as a museum and this season the theme was “Animal Worship”. Countless statues of naked goddesses, draped in snakes with hooves and claws. Charles has the feeling that the souvenir shop was making a killing.

 

“So, why are we here then, he asks, dreading the answer?” “I need some backup for my theory, so I was writing Dr. Lehnsherr and he agreed to help me. Fascinating guy, has a doctorate in both, Toxicology and Herpetology. And he is only in his mid-30's.”

Charles hands him another folder, which Cain gingerly takes.

 

“Please tell me this is not one of these obsessive fan journals you kept on the Vodka guy.” “Mendeleev did not really come up with that 40% thing, that's a myth. Also, it was not obsessive. It was a research paper on a world renowned scientist.”

“Doesn't make it any less creepy and I made you eat it. Fine, I take a look.”

He opens it and reads the first few paragraphs. When he turns the page and sees the picture of the man, his expression turns from bored to confused.

 

“Uh, mid-30's you say?” “Yes. Have you already gotten to his internship with Dr. Sanger? He helped him developed an improved antivenom for the common brown snake.”

 

“Fascinating. Did he study that whole snake thing before or after he scored the wining goal for Germany in the World Cup?” “What?” Cain starts to laugh at Charles puzzlement and points to the picture.

 

“That is Andy Brehme. 1990, penalty kick against Argentina. Great game.” “World Cup?”

“Yes, Charles. The thing were all the world sends their best footballers to a country to compete.” The laughter gets even louder when Charles' face starts to turn red.

 

“You are messing with me...” “Come on brother, look at the mullet. The grainy picture. He even wears the bib!”

“This is so embarrassing.” He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head.

“Why? It's not that you planned on showing him that folder. Or did you?” The laughter has now died down.

 

“Of course not. But if that was fake, maybe the whole meeting is as well. What if someone set me up? I go in there ask for him and all I get is a bucket of pigs blood dumped on my head?” Cain rolls his eyes and puts his arm around Charles' shoulders.

 

“Hey, no one is allowed to laugh at you, except for me, you got that, Carrie? And I didn't dose you in pigs blood, it was raspberry jam.” “Thanks for the pep talk.”

 

“Anytime. Now, let's go in. I pretend to be a tourist and look out for John Travolta.”

 

As soon as Charles enters, his nerves are instantly at ease. Universities and schools in general, have always been a safe haven for him and this time, is no difference. He casually strolls over to the map on the wall and looks up the departments. And thankfully, the name “Dr. Lehnsherr” is on it, next to the room number.

 

“At least he exists.”

He mumbles to himself and makes his way down to the office, before checking his watch. Charles' appointment is at 11, so he has more than half an hour to kill. Instead of going back to find Cain, he buys a sandwich and strolls out into the courtyard. Thankfully, it is empty, and he goes to sit down on a bench under a tree, to eat his meal in peace.

 

“Shouldn't you be in class?” A deep voice asks, startling him.

Charles' head jerks around and there, right on the other side of the tree, lays a man on the grass. He has shades on and a cigarette in his mouth. So much for peace.

 

“I don't go here. Finished uni some time ago.” The man tips his sunglasses down to get a look at him. He is lean and tall, clad in blue jeans, combat boots and a black jumper. A very tight, black jumper, Charles adds to his observation, involuntarily.

 

“Then you are not allowed to be here anyway. No tourists in the courtyard.” “Haven't seen any signs about that.” He replies, jokingly. The other guy stretches and easily knots his legs into a pleasant pose, before pointing to the wall a few yards besides them.

 

“There, in five languages. The one we are speaking in right now, has top billing.” Obviously, his joke hasn't landed.

“I have an appointment.” “To do someone's taxes?” This was getting ridiculous.

 

“Do I look like an accountant?” “You are wearing tweed and by the looks of you, not ironically. So yeah, you kinda do.”

He stretches again and shoves the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbows. There is a very crudely executed snake tattoo on his underarm. The same, Sanger got during his time with the Sereti-tribe of the Amazon. The other project, Lehnsherr was part of. _Damn it_.

 

“Dr. Lehnsherr.” “Charles Xavier.”

He grins and puts the cigarette out. At least he brought an ashtray with him.

 

“Shouldn't you be setting an example for your students? Smoking kills and all that?”

Lehnsherr waves his hand dismissively and laughs.

“If they work with me, they have a bigger chance to die from necrosis, than lung cancer, trust me.”

That doesn't really put trust in him. Not even a little.

 

Lehnsherr's office looks empty and impersonal. Except for the obligatory desk and chair, there are only a few books, a laptop and a couch – someone definitely spent a couple of nights on -.

 

“Did you switch offices?” “Huh?” He hands Charles a bottle of water and sits down.

“Oh, I don't spent much time in here. Mostly at the lab. This is just for appointments. Like now. So, let's talk.”

Charles prepared for this. Engage in the thesis, throw in a joke, don't get to cocky and a subtle hint of praise. But that was, when Lehnsherr had a mullet and he could actually concentrate on things beside the amazing green-grey-blue eyes of the man with the chiselled cheekbones in front of him.

 

“Trough my studies, I...” “Have come to the conclusion that a highly diluted antivenom of certain snakes can ease the symptoms of mental illnesses. The first time, this occurred to me was… Yes, Charles, I read your paper. That is why I agreed to this. Now, tell me why the son of one of the richest families in Britain, wants to spent his time on a project that has no prestige at all.” _Shots fired_ , Charles thinks to himself but continues regardless.

 

“I like helping people.” “There's this thing called charities. Like the one, the Xavier's hold twice a year. Ever heard of it?” _What an arsehole._

 

“Actually, I've been banned from those, because I drove someone's Jaguar into our pool. As a social commentary, of course and not, because I hated to be dressed up and paraded around like a poodle.” Lehnsherr grins at that.

 

“Was it an infinity pool?” “Of course not, we a thorough bred. Such frivolities are for people with new money. May I tell you my real reason for all of this now, or do you want to insult my family more?” He lowers his head and shrugs, so Charles continues.

 

“I want to help people because I know I can. I don't need praise, I don't care for a title or a cover shoot. When I got my degree and wanted to actually do something with it, instead of publishing articles and wait for a tenure, I came across Sanger's work. That one story in his book grabbed my attention. About the _woman with madness_ , who was bitten by a snake and then for a brief period of time was normal again. If that was possible, why not try to recreate it? Why not try to help people to live a normal life?” 

Lehnsherr looks unimpressed. 

 

“You are terrible at making speeches.” “And you are a bellend.” _Screw this guy, amazing cheekbones and all._

 

“That's all you've got? What a polite, young lad. Sit down, history lesson.” 

He takes out a packet of cigarettes and tosses Charles a book. 

 

“Toxicology in Ancient Russia?” He nods and takes a deep drag.

“Mailed that to Sanger, when I was fresh out of Uni. It came back with Grammar corrections.”

“Grammar…?” 

 

“No talking during exposition time: 

I got a hold of him, a couple of weeks later and he flat out told me, that he wouldn't waste his time with me, if I couldn't even  be bothered , to use a spell checker.  So I said to myself: 

Hey, he wants to challenge you,  you've got something,  blablabla. Corrected it, mailed it. Got it back with a note that just read:

“Boring and contrived.”

By the third time I thought, I nailed it. Didn't even get my copy back.  Waste s ix months of  my life, just wallowing in my own misery, because a guy I idolised didn't coddle me. And then, we met once again and I asked him directly, why he thought my work was shit. Guess what, he gave me the same spiel, that you've just received. With more psychological trauma, I might add.  Next thing I know, I'm on a plane to god knows where, doing the work of a first year student and getting paid in food.  But I never complained about anything, because we both knew that all of this was my decision and I was doing it for myself.”  It sounds bitter and also brutally realistic. All, Lehnsherr misses is a tumbler of Scotch and he'd be the spitting image of Charles' great uncle William, who enlisted back in World War II. 

 

 

“That is fucked up.” “Well, he is a bellend.” He finishes his, now third cigarette, and extends his hand to Charles.

 

“I'd be happy to help you with your research, Charles.” “Thank you, Dr. Lehnsherr.” 

“Come on, you've insulted me. Call me Erik. We start Monday.” 

 

C harles finds Cain on the same bench they sat on before. He's wearing a shirt with Wadjet on it. 

“No blood or jam on you, so I'm guessing this wasn't a set up?” “It was… interesting.”

This is the moment, Erik chooses to exit the building as well, clad in a leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet in hand. 

 

“See you after the weekend.” He grins and Charles turns red again. 

“Yes, I'm looking forward to it.” Cain has a field day with it, obviously and Charles knows that he is screwed. 


End file.
